


Neighbors

by writingandchocolatemilk



Series: UsUk Oneshots [11]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 16:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4107790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingandchocolatemilk/pseuds/writingandchocolatemilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the decrepit house next to his sold, Alfred was the first one over with a box of cookies.</p><p>Alfred walked up the creaking stairs of the house, grinning like a mad man. He knocked on the door, ignoring the malfunctioning doorbell. He waited, hoping to make a great first impression. </p><p>“Hello, I’m Alfred F. Jones, your…“ Alfred paused, eyes flicking up and down the figure who had opened the door. He was short, and his hair was in a mess like he had just had a fist fight. And he had a cloak on. An honest-to-God cloak, with the hood pulled up. “… Neighbor.” He finished, with must less gusto.</p><p>“Hello,” the man said, trying an awkward smile. “I’m Arthur Kirkland.”</p><p>There was a distant crash from somewhere in the depths of Arthur’s house. Alfred raised an eyebrow, and Arthur stood a little straighter, eyebrows pulling together. Alfred had a good few inches on him.</p><p>“Ah, sorry! Here,” Alfred handed Arthur the box of cookies. He had to be polite. A neighbor is a neighbor. “I got you some cookies.”</p><p>Arthur gave another awkward smile. “Thanks. Thank you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neighbors

New people in Alfred’s neighborhood were a rare thing. It was one of the old, half deserted streets that ten-year-olds dared each other to trick-or-treat down. Alfred would have left, but it was a fifteen minute drive from his work and the rent was _cheap_.

Alfred tried with an almost desperate vigor to welcome—and keep—new neighbors. He was the one who held all the bar-b-ques, holiday parties, and he invited everyone on the street to his birthday parties.

So, when the decrepit house next to his sold, Alfred was the first one over with a box of cookies.

Alfred walked up the creaking stairs of the house, grinning like a mad man. He knocked on the door, ignoring the malfunctioning doorbell. He waited, hoping to make a great first impression. 

“Hello, I’m Alfred F. Jones, your…“ Alfred paused, eyes flicking up and down the figure who had opened the door. He was short, and his hair was in a mess like he had just had a fist fight. And he had a cloak on. An honest-to-God cloak, with the hood pulled up. “… Neighbor.” He finished, with must less gusto.

“Hello,” the man said, trying an awkward smile. “I’m Arthur Kirkland.”

There was a distant crash from somewhere in the depths of Arthur’s house. Alfred raised an eyebrow, and Arthur stood a little straighter, eyebrows pulling together. Alfred had a good few inches on him.

“Ah, sorry! Here,” Alfred handed Arthur the box of cookies. He had to be polite. A neighbor is a neighbor. “I got you some cookies.”

Arthur gave another awkward smile. “Thanks. Thank you.”

Alfred shrugged. “Any time! I’m always right next door, if you need anything.” Alfred smiled. “See you around.”

Sometimes, Alfred’s neighborhood attracted weird people. Alfred had long since gotten over this fact, but it was always a disappointment when a weirdo moved in. Maybe Arthur _wasn’t_ a weirdo, and the cloak was just a new way to keep warm. That makes sense. Yeah.

Alfred watched from afar as Arthur, sans cloak, moved in over the next week. All of his things _seemed_ normal—couches, a bed, boxes labeled ‘kitchen’—except for the large amount of shovels. Arthur didn’t actually seem to be a bad dude.

Until he tried to kill him.

Well, okay, that might be a might be a bit of an overstatement.

It had started about two weeks after Arthur had arrived. Alfred was working out in his garage, admiring his motorcycle, when he heard an angry, loud yell from next door. Alfred, worried about someone alone in a giant house that was falling apart, decided to go check on Arthur.

Alfred knocked on the door. There was the sound of stomping from inside, another angry curse, and Arthur threw open the door, panting.

He had something red and wet on his hands.

Arthur followed Alfred’s eyes, and then glared at the taller man. “Can I help you?”

Alfred blinked a couple of times. “I, uh, I heard a yell. Are you…?”

“Quite fine, thanks,” Arthur snapped before shutting the door.

Alfred’s mind was racing. Just because it was red and wet doesn’t mean it was… _blood_. Alfred remembered when he had painted his own house red, he had been covered in paint as well. By the time night fell, Alfred was sure Arthur was just renovating.

The next day, someone knocked on his door. By the time Alfred had gotten up and answered, whoever it was, they were gone. In their place was a plate of… something black. Alfred looked around and picked up the plate and took it inside.

He picked up one of the… black things and took a bite.

Poison. It had to be poisoned. Alfred coughed, nearly dropping the plate. He rushed over to his kitchen and grabbed a glass, then ignored the glass and chugged directly from his milk carton.

Oh God. Oh God, oh God. Alfred had _seen too much_. The shovels made sense now; they were for burying bodies. Arthur had tried to get rid of him—oh, he had swallowed the black thing! It was only a matter of time…

Alfred spent the next few hours in a fearful huddle by the telephone. If he felt funny, funny _at all_ , then he would call Poison Control. But he felt fine.

Maybe it had just been a warning? A warning that Alfred should keep his nose out of Arthur’s murdering business?

Alfred approached the plate of… maybe burnt cookies? He picked one up, examining it. It seemed normal. He replaced the burned cookie, only to catch sight of a note stuck underneath the pile of poison.

“Call me…?” Alfred frowned down at the note.

Why would Arthur want Alfred to call him? What was he _scheming_?

Alfred debated with himself. He couldn’t _not_ call, because then Arthur would for sure try to get him. Could he call the police? No, Alfred had no evidence. Arthur may be shifty, but Alfred was pretty sure that calling and saying his neighbor wore a cloak and had red stuff on his hands wasn’t enough evidence.

Alfred worried over what to do for three days, until finally, “Hello! It’s, uh, it’s Alfred!” Alfred laughed nervously into the phone, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh, hello,” Arthur said from the other end. Alfred hadn’t realized this, but Arthur had an English accent.

“So, how’s this gonna’ work…?” Alfred asked, gripping his phone so hard his hands turned white.

“Well, I was thinking we could catch a movie at that joint down the street. There’s this crime one playing this Friday, at seven, if you’re free,” Arthur sounded awfully nonchalant about picking a place to murder Alfred.

But why a movie theater? Seems like an awfully crowded place to try and kill someone. Maybe… Maybe Arthur was creating an alibi. They did it all the time on the crime-drama shows Alfred watched. Bring your murderee somewhere crowded, let everyone see them, and then kill them when you’re bringing them home. Tell everyone you dropped them off safely.

“Alfred?” Arthur asked, concern leaking into his tone. Wow, was he a good actor!

“Yes!” Alfred yelled into the phone. He coughed, lowering his voice. “Yeah, sure, sounds good.”

“Alright. I’ll drive, because you only have that motorcycle.”

Alfred, despite himself, was offended. “What’s wrong with motorcycles?”

"Nothing, except they’re deathtraps,” he chuckled. “See you on Friday.”

Alfred was petrified. He was going to die this Friday.

The week flew by. That Thursday, Alfred said goodbye to his cat, and various plants. He delivered boxes of cookies to everyone in the neighborhood as a goodbye present. That Friday, Alfred gave everyone he knew a long hug at work.

When Arthur pulled into his driveway, Alfred shut his door for the final time. He walked to Arthur’s car and got in, looking around nervously. Arthur pulled out, and Alfred watched his house disappear for the last time.

There was silence in the car.

Arthur cleared his throat. _This is it_ , Alfred thought, _this is when he’s going to tell me he’s going to kill me_.

“I want to thank you for agreeing to go out with me. It’s been difficult getting settled. Maybe we could head to a pub—bar after?”

Alfred frowned. That didn’t sound like something a murderer would say. Thank you for coming to get killed. Alfred looked over at Arthur, who gave him a shy smile.

It clicked.

“Oh my God,” Alfred practically cheered. “You’re not a murderer! Oh, thank God!” He laughed, leaning again his door. He kept on laughing, even after an offended look from Arthur.

“Why would you think I was a _murderer_?” Arthur asked, face torn between anger and confusion.

Alfred was still laughing. Well, at least it would be an interesting first date story.

**Author's Note:**

>  **From anonymous prompt:** Could I pretty please have a UsUk AU were Arthur is Alfred's neighbor and Arthur is so strange/creepy that Alfred is convinced that he's a serial killer? Teenage!Alfred would work too. I love your blog BTW.


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